Just Once More
by ThatBrownEyedIrishGirl
Summary: Lydia has an addiction, and only Stiles can help her kick it. Set somewhere after 3A. Oneshot.


**Just Once More**

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**Summary: **Lydia has an addiction, and only Stiles can help her kick it. Set somewhere after 3A. Oneshot.

**Warning**: Drug and alcohol dependency mentioned briefly.

* * *

Addiction.

By definition, addiction is the fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance or activity. Lydia knew this. Of course she did.

With the highest IQ in all of Beacon Hills, the redhead could tell one all about the process of addiction; the dependency, the bargaining - the belief that 'just one more hit' would be enough. That one more hit of a powerful drug, or one more deep drag from the seemingly never-ending glass bottle would be enough to kick a developed addiction forever.

Lydia had an addiction, and like all other addicts, she kept hers well hidden from those around her, and if ever questioned, Lydia was prepared to deny it until she turned blue in the face.

However, Lydia's addiction wasn't dangerous. Well, not in a physically harmful way. No, hers just drove her crazy late at night, laying in bed and unable to fall asleep because all she could think of was indulging herself once more.

It had started a few weeks before, and had come out of nowhere. Sitting in class, letting her brilliant mind wonder, the thought had innocently slipped into her mind, causing her to jolt upwards in shock and draw unwanted attention to herself.

Her green eyes had roamed away from the board, the subject matter holding no interest for her. Not when she had read ahead weeks before, and knew it all already. Absently playing with her hair, Lydia observed her fellow students. Some were paying attention, hurriedly scribbling down notes and crossing things out. Some, like herself, had taken to staring at anything but the board, and she noticed, someone was even discreetly taking a nap at the back of the class.

Then there was a shuffle from her right, and her eyes snapped back and over towards the boy beside her. Stiles was restless, anxiously tapping his pencil against his open text book and waiting for the bell to ring. He caught her eye, and gave her a lopsided grin that was so beautifully _Stiles._

Lydia smiled back, allowing her eyes to drift down to his lips. The same lips she had kissed only a few weeks back.

She wondered what it would be like to kiss him again.

And that was when Lydia had jumped, because even if that burgeoning addiction wasn't physically dangerous, it was emotionally and mentally. Thoughts like those, especially about one of her best friends, were the most dangerous of all.

Lydia had kissed him in order to help him. In the moment, it had been nothing more than her doing her best. However, while she could logically accept that, Lydia couldn't explain the fluttering in her stomach when her lips had connected to his. The absolute relief and nervous excitement when his lips had moved beneath hers, accepting the kiss and kissing back with equal intensity. Lydia couldn't explain wanting to kiss him again as he stared, open-mouthed and adorably wide-eyed when she broke the kiss and pulled back.

Since then, these thoughts had infiltrated her mind, and had driven her mad. Lydia knew Stiles was noticing her reluctance to stay around for too long. She had even taken to avoiding Allison, just in case the girl mentioned Stiles, and she hated herself for that.

Lydia Martin wasn't afraid of her feelings about a boy. When Lydia Martin wanted something, she got it. But this was so much different. This wasn't just some boy.

This was _Stiles._

Stiles, the boy who was always there for her. Stiles, the boy who could simultaneously irritate her and make her melt at the same time. Stiles, the boy who looked at her with those honey-brown eyes and saw _her _for who she really was.

Stiles, whose lips, whose touch, whose mere presence had become Lydia's addiction.

Lydia groaned, drawing her knees up to her chest as she sat on her couch. She was hiding, having nearly given herself away that day for everyone to see.

At school, sitting at the small picnic table that had quickly become the group's table. Allison had been beside her, Isaac beside Allison, with Scott and Stiles sitting across from them. The topic of conversation had been astoundingly normal, and hadn't been enough to distract Lydia from wondering if her heart was beating a little too quickly.

Stiles had noticed her silence, and she had felt a gentle brush of his shin against hers. Lydia had managed not to jump out of her skin, assuming it had been an accident until she felt another brush, this one firmer. Glancing up, Stiles had grinned at her, nodding towards their friends who were none the wiser and yawned dramatically.

It had brought a smile to her lips and a blush to her cheeks, and Lydia had avoided him for the rest of the school day.

Now she sat on her couch, tugging the sleeves of her oversized sweater down over her hands. The shorts she wore inched upwards as she moved her legs up onto the couch, causing her to shiver softly, reminding her that it was still Winter.

Prada slept peacefully beside her, drawing all the heat he could from her chest and Lydia tiredly picked up her phone. A text from Allison went ignored, and Lydia knew it was a matter of time before Stiles contacted her, wanting to know if she was okay, and why she looked like a deer caught in the headlights every time he said her name.

With a groan, Lydia tossed her phone onto the coffee table and snuggled down with her dog, letting her eyes fall closed as sleep took her.

* * *

Lydia woke up twenty minutes later. The shrill ringing that had disturbed her sleep had come from the door, she realised.

Recalling how her mother had mentioned that one of her 'mom' friends planned on dropping over a casserole or something along those lines, Lydia set Prada down, stumbling sleepily towards the door.

Grasping the cold metal handle, Lydia pulled the large front door open, barely concealing a yawn behind her hand.

She opened her mouth to greet Sheila McElroy, and promptly stopped, clamping her mouth shut.

Stiles stood before her, clearly aware that he had woken her judging by the small smile on his lips. Lydia promptly looked away from those.

"Hey there, sleepy-head."

Lydia rolled her eyes, moving back to let him in. She remembered back to the Winter Formal, when he had been too shy to take a step inside the door until ordered to, despite it being freezing outside. Now he waltzed in as though being there was the most natural thing to him, and made a face at Prada, who huffed as Stiles walked by him. Lydia smothered a grin; Stiles complained and Prada huffed, but the two of them really did like each other, even if they refused to show it.

"What are you doing here?" Lydia asked, her eyebrows pulling down with concern. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

Lydia sighed, looking down at her bare feet. She had known this conversation was coming. It was the intervention, she thought. Though most interventions aren't held by the addiction itself. The strange thought caused her to laugh quietly, confusing Stiles no doubt.

"Nothing's wrong here." Lydia lied, shrugging easily. Stiles gave her a dubious look.

"You haven't said more than two words to me since yesterday."

"Not true." Lydia shook her head, walking into the kitchen and away from him,"Since you walked through that door, I have said way more than two words."

"Hey, no. I'm the resident smartass, that's my job." Stiles joked, and then seemed to catch himself. He quickly followed her, leaning against the doorway with his arms folded.

"I'm worried, Lyd. If something's going on with you, you can tell me, and please don't tell me it's nothing." Stiles exhaled heavily, and Lydia felt herself melt at the concern laced in his features.

"You keep avoiding everyone. At first, I thought it was just me. I thought maybe I had done something, or said something, something that upset you. I mean, I could believe it; I'm an idiot -"

"No you're not."

Her interruption was too quick, and drew a brief grin to his face. "I just don't want you going through whatever this is by yourself. If it's bothering you so much that you're avoiding us, then I want to help you. We're friends, right?"

Lydia nodded silently, not trusting her voice, and swore she stopped breathing when he took a step closer to her.

"Good," He smiled in relief. "Friends help friends. So tell me what I can do to help you, and I'll do it."

Then, Stiles reached out and tucked a small wisp of hair behind her ear, his fingertips brushing against her ear, and then her jaw line, leaving a trail of goosebumps that disappeared down her neck.

_Just once more, _she thought helplessly. _One more hit, and we can all move on. One more hit, and I can forget about Stiles Stilinski and those damn, perfect, magnetic lips of his._

"Kiss me."

The surprise was clear in his eyes, and Lydia assumed the same level of shock was mirrored in her own. The words had slipped out so easily, without thought, and Lydia felt her face heat up.

Stiles was going to think she was crazy. God, Lydia wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole right at that very moment. She wanted anything that would make Stiles stop looking at her like that; like he was trying to figure out if the words had really come from her.

Lydia wanted to run. Wanted to laugh, and say she was kidding, and that she was perfectly fine and that his concern was totally unwarranted. Except, she remained rooted to the spot, and her mouth remained slightly open.

Stiles hand still rested lightly against her jaw, and he blinked a few times before speaking.

"You want me to kiss you?" He asked, and Lydia fought not to groan. Good God, he was gonna draw this torture out.

Lydia looked down again, avoiding his gaze as the embarrassment consumed her.

Then, there was movement, and his sneakers came into view. Stiles had moved closer to her. His touch dragged down her skin, his finger tapping the underside of her chin softly, and Lydia had no choice but to look at him.

Stiles tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Lydia watched, entranced.

He tilted her face up, their height difference painfully obvious with their proximity and her lack of heels, and finally, he pressed his lips to hers.

Sweetness exploded behind her eyes, and the Stiles-deprived butterflies in her stomach woke up, fluttering wildly and awakening every one of her senses along with them.

His lips slanted across her own, urging them to move in unison with his, and she parted her lips. Stiles's arm wound around her waist, his fingers splaying out against her back as he drew her nearer, and Lydia's hesitant hands went to his neck, eventually moving to grip his shoulders as she pushed up on her tip-toes, deepening the kiss.

She felt him smile against her, his other hand coming up to thread through her messy hair and Lydia knew one more hit would never be enough.

This was one addiction that she would never break free from, and with a small smile of her own, Lydia realised she really didn't mind.

* * *

**And thus marks the completion of my seventh Stydia fic. Is it obvious I need help?**

**This idea came to me today after watching last night's episode (I won't say anything spoiler-y) and the inspiration nearly consumed me. I just had to write this.**

**I hope you liked it, and I'd love to hear your thoughts! :)**

**- Megan**


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